


The Shield and the Sword

by tameimpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Episode: s09e21 King of the Damned, First Blade, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mark of Cain, Post-Episode: s09e21 King of the Damned, Season/Series 09, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameimpala/pseuds/tameimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean had completed his mission. Abaddon was dead. Sam supposed he had staggered off to bed. Well, to his room at least. They may not be cooped up in the same motel room together, but it didn't mean that Sam wasn't aware of the fact that his older brother wasn't sleeping... </i>
</p><p>The death of Abaddon and the subsequent tense car ride back to the bunker leaves the growing chasm between the two hunters even larger. Soon after their return, Sam discovers a disturbing scene featuring his brother and starts to realise the effect the Mark of Cain is beginning to have on its owner.</p><p>  <span class="small">Set after <b>s09e21 King of the Damned</b>, slight cannon divergence.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shield and the Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote during the summer, I spent half of season nine just needing Sam to see what Dean was going through. God it was such an angsty season (isn't it always?). 
> 
> The title is from [The shield and the Sword by Clare Maguire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXx0hhDZDEE)

  


* * * * *

_And we don’t speak_  
_So we’re left in constant silence_  
_And it’s haunting me_  
_So I’m ready now to fight this_

  


That wasn't his brother. He could barely look at the impostor who sat next to him driving the impala. More than anything he wanted to shout, curse and rage at Dean for his stupidity of taking on the mark. He wanted to tell Dean to stop because he was scared, petrified, at what was happening to him, that he didn't want to lose him once more. But his promise to his self of _"strictly business"_ prevented these heart felt pleas and replaced them with cold suggestions of concern, nothing that Dean would read into that much, not these days anyway. His green eyes had lost that strange feral look but instead they appeared faded and vacant. Sam didn't know what was worse. 

Dean's flat out _"No"_ at the suggestion that the blade could be put away had put an end to any conversation and to Sam voicing anymore of his worries. Once they reached the bunker Sam went straight back to the book he was reading before they left which had some sketchy references to the Mark of Cain. He had been interested in it before but now he raced to the book like his life depended on it, or rather Dean's did. 

He barely noticed his brother walk past him, picking up two bottles of whiskey from the cabinet. 

Immersed in research, Sam hadn't realized the time. Three hours had passed since they had returned. He looked to his right, expecting to see Dean silently working next to him with a bottle of Jack in his grasp. With a bitter laugh he understood why the chair was empty. Dean had completed his mission. Abaddon was dead. Sam supposed he had staggered off to bed. _Well,_ to his room at least. They may not be cooped up in the same motel room together, but it didn't mean that Sam wasn't aware of the fact that his older brother wasn't sleeping... His insomnia seemed to get worse with each encounter with the blade, which meant tonight Dean was probably filling his time by drinking as he had no research to obsess over. Sam's theory was proved right when he glanced over to the liquor cabinet and saw the two bottles of whiskey gone. 

_Surely he won't drink all that?_ But Sam knew Dean would try and maybe even succeed. He was going for the record these days, even 5 glasses of scotch seemed to have no effect on him. Sam wondered how much more of a battering his liver could take. Even Dean Winchester had limits. Closing his book, he set off towards Dean's room. 

The bunker's long imposing corridors were way too quiet. Sam usually heard his brother restlessly pacing around, keeping himself busy. He could usually be found tidying up his record collection or cleaning his guns, these days the latter was more a lot more common. But when Sam opened the ajar door slowly it revealed no Dean. Sam didn't allow himself to panic, his next sanctuary was the kitchen. He headed there quickly, the dead silence of the bunker making him uneasy. He approached the room and saw no light leaking out from under the door which was strangely closed this time. However (as sad as it was to admit) closed doors, locks, and barriers were becoming normal things that both the brothers were starting to place between each other. 

Sam's melancholy thoughts were ripped away in an instant when he heard a faint moan that came from inside the dark room. 

  


Dean was in there. 

  


He turned the handle slowly and pushed. Silhouetted by the light of the hall was Dean's unmoving back. He was sitting at the table and one bottle of whiskey was already gone. The older of the two didn't even register the light trickling in. 

"D-Dean?" Sam stuttered, not moving. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" 

He seemed to mutter something and Sam turned on the light, expecting Dean to gruffly shout at him for making it too bright. But there came no reaction.

Sam slowly walked around to face his brother. And what he saw made his stomach turn. 

Dean was sat with the blade in his right arm with deep cuts all the way down his left. The slices were precise and long, forming a ladder of slashes from the inside of his elbow right down to the wrist. Blood was pooled on the table but Dean's eyes were still focused on the First Blade. Sam fought the overwhelming urge to grab the blade away from him but he didn't want to shock Dean out of his trance for fear of what he might do to himself. _Or to me,_ added the voice at the back of Sam’s head.

"Sharp." Dean said, his lips barely moving, "So sharp." 

He had never heard his brother talk whilst in possession of the blade, this was the first time. Dean's voice sounded distant, absent minded. Sam wondered how he would be able to fix this, if it was even fixable. 

  


 

 

  


Sam approached the table gingerly. He had to get Dean out of this state, before he could hurt himself any further. 

Kneeling down slightly to be on eye level he cleared his throat and gave a forceful shout of "DEAN!" 

Dean's eyes darted quickly towards him but his grip on the blade became tighter in response. 

"Dean, it's me. You need to drop the blade," Sam said softly, his arms held up as a sign of peace, "You're hurt." He added, motioning to his brother's bleeding arm. 

Dean looked down at the arm which was littered in cuts of varying sizes. His grip loosened on the blade slightly, but his eyes were still anchored to the mutilated jaw bone as though it was the only thing in existence. 

"I can clean it up for you," Offered Sam gently, "But only if you give me the blade..." 

Sam reached out his arm till it hovered above the First Blade, with his hand in Dean's peripheral vision the older man finally reacted to the new object in his line of sight and his eyes slowly tracked the arm up the owners body. He reached Sam's face and tentatively looked into his eyes. Holding the gaze Sam noticed the animalistic glint was still there in those deep green pits, but somewhere underneath that, Sam saw fear. 

"Please." Sam whispered, "Just let go." 

Dean's head dropped back down to stare at the blade. But just as Sam started to think of a different course of action, Dean lifted his arm and cautiously handed the blade to Sam. After it was no longer in his grasp Dean seemed to slump in his chair and fell forward. 

Sam grabbed his shoulders just before he could face-plant the table, "Woah- hey! DEAN!" 

Dean was shaking but he regained his balance. Sam instantly wrapped a towel he'd snagged from the counter beside him around his bleeding arm, not wanting him to see the damage just yet. 

"Sammy?" Dean slurred. _Great_ , Sam thought to himself as he remembered the empty bottle, _he would have to be drunk wouldn't he?_

"Yeah it's me." He left revealed that some level of recognition was seeping back through. "How are you feeling?" 

"'m fine" Dean answered as he clumsily attempted to get up. But only Sam pushed him back down. 

"That's not the right answer," Replied Sam agitatedly. The word _‘fine’_ always seemed to have a different definition in his family.

"Just leave m' be, alright? ’m fine. All fine" He muttered. 

"Really?" Sam felt anger pulsing through him, "You've got to stop lying to me Dean, because this-" Sam removed the towel from Dean's arm to reveal the methodical cuts beneath, "This is not 'fine'" 

Dean quickly registered the wounds again, now out of his trance-like state suddenly pure surprise and anger replaced the empty look in his eyes. He pushed the chair back and glared at Sam. 

"You!" His shaking hand pointing at the younger hunter’s face, "You did this!" 

"What!?" Sam was bewildered, "Why the hell would you-" 

"Get out of him, get out!" Dean said, scrambling for the blade which Sam had thrown into the corner. 

Sam lunged at his older brother, pulling him away and back onto the chair. For once Sam was grateful Dean was drunk, his movements where impaired and slow making him easy to hold in place. 

"How many times do I have to tell you it's me? You need to calm down!" Dean squirmed in his younger brother’s grip, trying with all his might to break free. Sam had no choice. He slapped him hard across the face. The sharp sound reverberated round the empty kitchen and Dean stopped dead. "Listen" Sam said, looking him in the eye once more, hoping that he could finally will some sense into the older hunter and shake both of them out of this nightmare. "It's me, Gadreel is gone, remember? Dean-" he held up his brothers injured arm, "You did this to yourself."

Slow realization crept into Dean's face as he stared at the injured arm. With his head bowed, shielding his face from Sam's, he lightly touched the deep wounds with his right hand and started to press down. 

"My God Dean stop it, you're making it worse!" Sam shouted as he quickly dragged the calloused hand away. Dean's head was still lowered, avoiding Sam's concerned eyes. He let his arm go limp the moment Sam let go.

"Just wanted to see..." He muttered slowly to himself.

"See what?" Sam asked, unable to stop his curiosity towards Dean's remark as he continued trying to catch his eye. 

The older hunter was shaking again, "To- to see if it was real." 

  


Sam sighed lightly, feeling his heart break at those pain-filled words. He looked down at his brother and was surprised at how young Dean looked with his head hanging down and his arms limp by his sides. It wasn't the first time that Sam had had that thought. 10 hours earlier when Dean had finally stopped carving into Abaddon and dropped the blade the look he had gave Sam was that of a guilty lost 5 year old. 

The look reminded him slightly of one his brother actually gave _him_ crap for... Throughout Sam's life his one weapon he had against Dean were his coveted puppy dog eyes. He could always count on them winning him the last bowl of Lucky Charms. However what Dean didn't know is that he had his own weapon, the way he managed to look completely broken and lost. Dean would never put it on like Sam could, like it was a party trick, but Dean's overall look of exhaustion had a way of eating away at the younger hunter’s soul. The puppy dog eyes were expected of Sam... But Dean was the strong one, his protector. So when the sarcastic comments and his bravado was gone and Dean was broken once more Sam knew things were serious, he knew a storm was on the horizon.

  


And Sam's guard went down completely.

  


He lifted Dean's head up gently. Tears were dripping slowly down his face. It took everything he had for Sam not to start crying too.

"It's okay," He said, his hands cupped Dean’s face but he was still looking at anything but Sam, "HEY! Dean- please look at me."

Pools of tears lay under his eyes as Dean looked up into his brother's.

"Sammy?" A thousand questions lingered in that one word, that one word that simultaneously annoyed him and made him happy beyond belief to hear Dean say it, no matter where they were. It meant safety, reassurance, family, protection... It meant _love_. Sam gave him a watery smile in response and that seemed a good enough for Dean. He fell into his younger brother and his face buried it's self into Sam's shoulder.

He wrapped two protective arms over a shivering Dean, shushing him lightly.

"It's okay Dean," Sam murmured against the spiky dirty blonde hair, the tears that had threatened all night finally falling, "It's going to be okay."

  


Out of everything he'd said, past and present, he hoped that these last 5 words were true.

  


* * * * *


End file.
